


Lazy Days

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post Series, Slice of Life, post retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 21:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10145252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which Napoleon ages semi-gracefully as he and Illya enjoy their retirement from U.N.C.L.E.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This piece takes place after Napoleon and Illya's retirement from U.N.C.L.E. This also fulfills the prompt “Day at the beach” for my MFU Bingo card.

Napoleon relaxed back on his beach chair, soaking up the warm Hawaiian sun. This was truly paradise, he realized—laying back to lazily look out onto the horizon, watching the sunlight dance across the blue waters. It was times such as these that, despite yearning for the adventures he had left since retiring from U.N.C.L.E., he had to admit that it was truly a blessing to be able to enjoy some well-earned peace and not have to worry about whatever THRUSH was planning next.

Illya was down in the water, swimming—something that Napoleon insisted that the Russian was on his own for. Their cat, Baba Yaga, was watching Illya with some amount of concern by the water’s edge, meowing at him—at least until a particularly larger wave approached, and she turned tail and fled back to Napoleon, who chuckled and picked her up, prompting her to purr.

“I agree, my dear,” he said. “The ocean is best seen and not felt.”

She responded with a meow, and Napoleon gave her some scritches behind her ears. They both continued to lounge there, and Napoleon only looked up after he heard a _THUNK_ on the sand. Baba Yaga leaped out of Napoleon’s arms to arch her back at a volleyball that had landed close by.

Napoleon glanced over to see a bunch of young twentysomethings staring awkwardly after their volleyball, but indicating the signs that had been put up to distinguish that this part of the beach was private property.

Napoleon smiled and got up, picking up the volleyball and gracefully served it back to the beachgoers. The group thanked him, and even complimented him.

“Nice serve, Old Man!” one of them said, as the group retreated.

And Napoleon just stood there with a blank expression on his face as he mouthed “ _Old Man_?” silently. He stayed like that for a moment before looking at Baba Yaga.

“Do you think I’m old?”

“Murowr.”

“…Yeah, that’s right; to a cat, I’d be an ancient mystic,” he sighed, absently feeling his face for any visible signs of aging. “…Here I thought that ‘Old Man’ was what we called Mr. Waverly—never to his face, of course. …Maybe all those probationary agents calling me ‘Sir,’ wasn’t just because of my rank…”

He continued to mull over this as Illya now returned, and Baba Yaga started meowing at him as he wrapped a towel around himself.

“That was most enjoyable,” he declared, and he paused at the look on his partner’s face. “And what got into you?”

“I’m old, Illya.”

“…I was gone for only twenty minutes, and you managed to have a midlife crisis?”

“I was so preoccupied with my departure from U.N.C.L.E. after turning 40 that I neglected to remember what turning 40 actually meant. I’m over the hill, Illya!”

“Oh, Napoleon,” Illya tutted. “So you are going gray at the temples; I wouldn’t say that it means the end of things as you know it! And will it comfort you to remember that I shall also be 40 next year?”

“You didn’t have the greenhorns calling you ‘Sir,’ did you?”

“Actually, _everyone_ had the greenhorns calling them ‘Sir.’ In fact, I believe _April_ was once addressed as ‘Ma’am’ a few times—much to her chagrin. And if it was those college students I saw you talking to earlier that prompted this, then I might as well tell you that yes, the two of us are ancient by their standards!”

Napoleon shrugged, silently admitting that Illya had a very good point, but before he could reply, they were distracted by the sound of the phone ringing inside. They headed back to the house; Illya stayed out on the veranda to dry off and watched Napoleon take the call—and watch Baba Yaga attack her scratching post, since she had nothing better to do.

Illya was pleased to see a smile growing on Napoleon’s face as he took down something on a piece of paper and then said his goodbyes to whoever was on the line.

“Illya!” he exclaimed, dashing outside once he was finished with the call. “Illya, we’ve got a client! Our first client!”

“And that is all it takes to end your midlife crisis?” Illya asked, amused.

“Well, it’s kind of hard to feel old when the adrenaline’s pumping through your bloodstream,” Napoleon said.

“I shall keep that in mind for your next midlife crisis…”

“Ha, ha; thanks. Anyway, our client is in London, so let’s get packing and get over there as soon as possible!”

Illya shook his head in amusement and followed his partner inside, but he couldn’t deny that he was also looking forward to an adventure once again.


End file.
